Their purpose; but even now, as on the tower I stood, which high o'erlooks the castern causeway,

Methought I heard the distant sound of horses,
As hither bent in full career.
Grey. The sound

Of horse!-Look out; call up our knights-
away.
[Exit Knt.
-What can delay him?-Should my present
hopes

Miscarry, I will bear the lady hence,
And make her hostage for my safety; nay,
Perchance, what I have some incentives to,
Supplant them both, the lover and the husband-
He comes!-

Indeed, but I do come a generous foe. Lord Sul. A generous foe! The brave indeed aspire

To generous acts; their every thought looks up, And honour's dictates are their only function: But thou! what terms would'st thou propose?

what act

Of that essential virtue, that may rase
The ignoble stains wherewith thou art polluted?
Ray. The ignoble and the brave alike have
erred;

And he, that re-ascends to virtue's height,
Does often snatch a wreath, which never bloomed
On safer wisdom's brow. First let me loose
Those ignominious bonds, which have, indeed,
My own dishonoured-not the wearer's arm.
[Takes off his chains.
Lord Sal. Say to what purpose tends this ho-
nest seeming?

Ray. That I have wronged thee, I confess; take this,

[Gives him a sword, and draws another.

The only restitution I have left.

I know thou never canst forgive, nor I

Forget: the sword, then, judge between.
Lord Sal. Indeed!

Lives there so much honour, then, within thee?
Spite of the mighty wrongs which thou hast done
Me, I do thank thee.

Ray. Now, Fortune mark her favourite! [RAY. is disarmed. Then she is partial, and I must submit. Lord Sal. Take up thy sword again; my fair

revenge

Disdains too cheap a conquest.
Ray. 'Tis too much.

Oh generous! generous even to cruelty!
Some way I would repay thee-Oh, that I
[Takes up his sword.
Had never seen thy wife! It may not be;
Then let me tear for ever from my breast
The guilty passion: thus I thank thee-
-thus
[Wounds himself.
-Oh!- [Falls.

Atone the mischiefs, that-
Lord Sal. This, indeed,
Atones for all. Thou much misguided youth!
What tempted thee to stray so wide from ho-
nour?

Ray. Ask, ask that villain; he will answer all;
That villain Grey, whose wicked arts seduced me;
Forgive I die, I die: a dreadful proof
What ills await the wretch, who gives his ear
To vicious counsels.

[Dies.

Lord Sal. Dreadful proof indeed! I do forgive thee,-so forgive thee, Heaven!

Re-enter MORton.

Now, where's my wife? where is my friend Leroches?

Mor. My lord, by my assistance, he has fled. I saw how vain your purpose to escape; His single flight was unobserved. Your friends, In quest of whom he hasted, are arrived; That trumpet speaks it. [A trumpet heard.

Lord Sal. It is, it is sir Ardolf! See, he comes. Enter ARDOLF and Knight.

Ard. My noble friend! safe! crowned with conquest too!

Lord Sal. Saw you Leroches?
Ard. My lord,

He sought the castle by a private path.
I thought he had been here by this.
Lord Sul. 'Tis well.

But where's my wife? my son? my soul is maimed
Of half its joys till I've again embraced them.

Enter ELEANOR,

Ele. My lord, my lord! the countess and lord William

Send, send and save them from destruction! With horses, that outstrip the winds, the villains Have borne her from the castle!

Lord Sal. Ravished by villains! Mount your horses, haste!

Ard. Say, which way have they fled ?

Ele. West of the castle :

Heaven grant their swiftness mock not your best speed!

Ard. Now, good my lord, if I might speak-
Lord Sal. Speak not

To me; but forth and scour the country!
Ard. Hark!

Methought I heard a voice-
Ele. And I methought.

Perhaps Heaven has been kind! perhaps 'tis she.
Ludy Sal. [Entering.] Now, hushed be every
fear-Where, where's my hero,
That I may once more hold him to my bosom?
Enter Lady SALISBURY and Lord WILLIAM,
conducted by LEROCHES.

Lord Sal. 'Tis she! 'tis she!

My wife is in my arms again! Speak, speak! Oh, whence this precious, this unlooked event? Lady Sal. When the fell ruffian, When Grey, with impious hands, had snatched us hence, Then came my guardian angelfriend,

And rescued us from ruin.

Ler. Happy hour!

-came your

I took the path which brought me to their res.

cue;

The atrocious villain fell beneath this arm.
Lord Sal. My wife!

My son! my friend! My God! my guardian
God!

Ele. O joy, that they are here again!

Lord Sal. They're here! they're here! my wife and son are here!

Proclaim it, O ye sons of light! spread wide Your starry pinions, angels, spread them wide, And trumpet loud throughout the unmeasured

tracts

Of highest Heaven, that virtue is made happy! Lady Sal. Let the sun cease to shine, the pla

nets cease,

Drop every star from his etherial height,
Ere I forget thee, source of every good!

Lord Sal. Friends, I am much beholden to you all.

My love! the gloom that overspread our morn,
Is now dispersed; our late mishaps,
Recalled, shall be the amusing narrative,

And story of our future evening, oft Rehearsed. Our son, too, he shall hang up The sounds, and lift his little hands in praise To heaven: taught by his mother's bright e ple,

That, to be truly good, is to be blessed.

[Excunt o

piece.

Play, epilogue, and all were grave and solemn'Then, sir, the town were fools that did not maul 'em.

No-let your heroine, in this laughing age, Come thus (as Bayes says) souse upon the stage; Then with a jaunting air-half smile, half grin, Curtsey quite round the boxes, and begin.

A spark from court-no husband to detect him: A pretty fellow too, and yet reject him!Now, ladies, let me die but it was silly— You'll not approve such horrid prud'ry-will ye?

I should have bless'd th' occasion, and receiv'd

him:

He should have kneel'd and vow'd, and I-believ'd him.

-Laugh'd, danc'd and sported it till spouse came

over,

Then kissed my dear-while Betty hid the lover. But here again our poet checks my flight: Nay, madam, you mistake the matter quite. My heroine liv'd in ancient, honest times; Cards were unknown, and gallantries wer crimes !'

Psha! what if females then were seldom rovers! Husbands (aye, there's the cause) were warm a lovers.

Their warlike days indeed were spent in killing. But then at night-no turtles were so billing. Well-though he gives me no smart things

SCENE I.-The Platform before the Castle. Enter FLORIAN.

Flor. WHAT awful silence! how these antique

towers

And vacant courts dull the suspended soul,
Fill expectation wears the cast of fear;
And fear, half-ready to become devotion,
Mumbles a kind of mental orison,
It knows not wherefore:-

What a kind of being is circumstance!
I am a soldier, and were yonder battlements
Garnish'd with combatants, and cannon-mounted,
My daring breast would bound with exultation,
And glorious hopes enliven this drear scene.
Now dare not I scarce tread to my own hearing,
Lest Echo borrow Superstition's tongue,
And seem to answer me, like one departed.

But be it whose it may, this is no haunt
For revellers and gallants-Pass your way.
Flor. Thou churl! Is this your Gallic hospi-
tality?

Thy lady, on my life, would not thus rudely
Chide from her presence a bewildered knight.
Por. Thou know'st my lady then!-Thou
know'st her not.

Canst thou in hair-cloths vex those dainty limbs? Canst thou on reeking pavements and cold marble,

In meditation pass the live-long night?
Canst mortify that flesh, my rosy minion,
And bid thy rebel appetite refrain

From goblets foaming wine, and costly viands? These are the deeds, my youngster, must draw down

My lady's ever heav'n-directed eye.

Flor. In sooth, good friend, my knighthood is not school'd

In voluntary rigours-I can fast,
March supperless, and make cold earth my pil-
low,

When my companions know no choicer fare.
But seldom roost in churches, or reject
The ready banquet, or a willing fair-one.

Por. Angels defend us! What a reprobate! Yon mould'ring porch, for sixteen years and

more,

Has not been struck with such unhallowed sounds. Hence to thy lewd companions!

Flor. Father grey-beard,

I cry you mercy; nor was it my intention
To wound your reverence's saint-like organs.
But come, thou hast known other days-canst
tell

Of banquettings and dancings-'twas not always thus.

Por. No, no-time was-my lord, the count of Narbonne,

A prosp'rous gentleman: were he alive,
We should not know these moping melancholies.
Heaven rest his soul! I marvel not my lady
Cherishes his remembrance, for he was
Comely to sight, and wondrous' goodly built.

him.

He must not here set foot-But tell me, strange,
I prithee, say, does my old master's heir
Still breathe this vital air? Is he in France?
Is he within some ten, or twenty leagues,
Or fifty? I am hearty yet, have all my limbs,
And I would make a weary pilgrimage
To kiss his gracious hand, and at his feet
Lay my old bones-for here I ne'er must see
him.
[Wee
Flor. Thou good old man, forgive a soldic! ›

mirth.

But, say, why Narbonne's heir from Narbonne lands

Is banish'd, driven by a ruthless mother? Por. Ah! sir, 'tis hard indeed-but spare his

mother;

Such virtue never dwelt in female form.
Count Edmund-but he was indeed a stripling,
A very lad—it was the trick of youth,
And we have all our sins, or we have had;
Yet still no pardon-Think'st thou not, my
My late kind master, ere he knew my lady,
Wist not what woman was?—I warrant him
But so-Count Edmund being not sixteen,
A lusty youth, his father's very image
Oh! how he has play'd me many a trick-g

sir,

Does my young master ever name old Peter ? Well! but I prate-you must forgive my age I come to th point-Her name was Beatric A roguish eye-she ne'er would look on me, Or we had sav'd full many a woeful day, Mark you me well?

Flor. I do.

Por. This Beatrice

But hark! my lady comes-retire a while Beyond these yews-anon I'll tell you more. Flor. May I not greet her?

Por. For my office, no: 'Twere forfeit of my badge to hold a parley With one of near thy years.

[FLORIAN withdr [The Countess in Weeds, with a Crucifis in